My Bad (Bear Bottom Guardians MC #4)Author: Lani Lynn Vale

Two, the nurse that treats him for erectile dysfunction is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and practically has ‘the marrying type’ stamped on her forehead.

Does that stop him from wanting her?

No.

Unfortunately, he learned a long time ago that the Army Special Forces and long-lasting relationships don’t go hand in hand.

But beautiful hazel eyes, curly blonde hair, and the prettiest lips he’s ever seen play havoc with his resolve, making him forget his earlier convictions.

All it takes is one teeny, tiny kiss for every shred of control he has to disappear, along with the problem in his pants. Soon he finds himself doing things that he knows that he shouldn’t.

He doesn’t know that he’s found the woman that’s meant to be his. Nor does he realize that her father is the man he’s idolized from the moment he joined the Army at the age of eighteen.

Because, maybe if he had, he would’ve tried a little harder to ignore the pull he felt between them instead of making her his the night before he deployed for six months.

He also might’ve tried a little harder not to knock her up.

Chapter 1

Don’t judge someone just because they sin differently than you do.

-Life lesson

Hoax

Either my dick was broken, or I was about to die. Those were the only two possible explanations.

I wasn’t actually a hundred percent sure why I had decided to come to the hospital for my current predicament, but something had to give. Something in the form of my erection—or my lack thereof.

I’d been lying in bed for hours tonight, trying to think about something that would make my dick get hard, but nothing worked.

Not my usual buxom brunette with tits so big that they slapped her in her face when I fucked her hard. Nor the small Asian chick that had nipples so tight that I wanted nothing more than to suck them into my mouth and hold on tight with my teeth while I went to town.

Hell, even my oldest daydream—the one of Mrs. Oliver from ninth grade science class—didn’t even do the trick anymore, and I’d been using that particular one for years.

Before I could think, I’d gotten on my bike and ridden to the hospital. Then, before I could get embarrassed that I, a thirty-two-year-old man who was in the prime of his life, couldn’t get it up, I marched straight into the ER—emergency room—and stopped.

I shouldn’t be there. Technically, I wasn’t actually experiencing an emergency.

I’d never hear the end of it, either. Not from my family and not from my friends. It was probably best that nobody saw me.

Though, technically, the one single nurse that I knew that worked in the ER, Conleigh, had assured me that what happened in the ER stayed in the ER. And not because they had some weird pact kind of like fight club where you didn’t talk about your patients. No, because there were laws that required them not to.

Which, I supposed, wasn’t really going to keep them from talking about me. It just meant they couldn’t talk about me to other people—not amongst themselves.

Honestly, I was about to turn around and leave when I saw her.

She wasn’t very tall. A little over five foot three or four, she was a good foot shorter than me. She was wearing navy blue scrubs that fit her body like a glove.

Since when did hospital scrubs become so fitted?

But goddamn. The scrubs she was wearing hugged her supple ass, belly, and thighs. And those tits…yeah, they would fit perfectly in the palm of my hand.

She took my breath away.

Oh, and made my dick hard.

She’d cured me, and what better way to thank her than to give her a very thorough thank you present. One that involved my tongue, cock, and fingers.

Chapter 2

This message is invisible. Only people that masturbate can see it.

Pru

I scratched my head and nearly groaned when I found the pen that I’d been searching in every drawer and counter for the last three and a half minutes. Three and a half minutes that I should’ve been using to pee and shove some food in my mouth instead of looking for a pen.

But, it was a special pen. I’d gotten it from a patient two weeks ago that had been all of six years old, and informed me that the pen was special and boys liked it.

Pulling it out, I stared at the mermaid pen with its glittery, shiny gold, teal, and purple scales, and felt myself smiling.

“Anyway,” I sighed, tucking the pen into the palm of my hand and curling my fingers around it. “If you want to go ahead and take that potty break, go ahead. I’ll wait here and take over until you get back.”

The paramedic that ran the triage desk looked at me with gratefulness. “Thanks, Pru. You’re the best.”

Then, before either one of us could argue, or I could rescind my offer, she bolted for the breakroom.

I, on the other hand, bounced on the balls of my feet as I tried to think about anything but the fullness of my bladder.

A throat cleared behind me, and I turned, coming face to face with a broad chest.

I blinked and stepped back.

“Is this where I would need to go to get seen?” a deep, rough voice, belonging to that chest, rumbled.

I took another step back, completely forgetting about my full bladder, and stared at the chest in surprise before allowing my eyes to travel up.

“Ma’am?”

I didn’t respond to his words. Instead, I took every delicious inch of the man in. Starting with his chest, which was covered with a black Van Halen t-shirt, I moved my way up to the breadth of his shoulders. Very wide shoulders that looked like they could support a lot of weight—possibly my ankles—for hours.

Then I moved from those beautiful shoulders to his strong, muscular neck. I stopped at the bearded jaw. A bearded, square jaw that screamed for me to run my fingers over it.

I wasn’t sure if it was the beard or the jaw that got me—probably both. I’d always been a beard whore, but shit. This man’s beard? It was amazing. Trim and tight against that perfect jaw that probably made women clench just seeing those angles.

And oh, God. Those lips.

“Ma’am?”

I finally looked past the man’s mouth to his nose and felt a twinge of amusement when I saw the crookedness of it.

It’d been broken. Many times before, based on the angle.

A sigh fell from his lips, momentarily bringing my attention back to their perfectness, and I blinked before finally meeting the man’s eyes.

They were a steely gray/blue that made me think of Travis Fimmel’s eyes from the TV show, The Vikings. But only when he was actually on the TV show and dirty. His eyes—Travis’s, not the man standing in front of me—always seemed to go a wintery gray the dirtier he got.

I swallowed and said, “I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t even crack one.

Instead, he stared at me steadily and repeated. “Are you who I need to speak with if I’m here to be seen?”

I tried to shake my thoughts into some semblance of coherency, but I couldn’t quite make it work.

Why, you ask?

Because he’d lifted his arm and leaned one strong hand against the doorframe, and I saw his muscular, defined bicep slip free of the too-taut fabric of his t-shirt. A defined bicep that had a tattoo running along the inner, sensitive flesh from armpit to elbow.

A sword.

That was it. A broadsword—or at least the hilt of one.

It was beautiful work and exceptionally done. The scrollwork alone was mesmerizing.

And, realizing what I was looking at, he dropped his arm, causing me to momentarily get myself back under control.

“What symptoms are you exhibiting?” I finally forced myself to ask.

He didn’t look like he was having any problems.

In fact, other than the cast—that was clearly beaten up and in need of either another re-do or taking it off completely—I couldn’t see anything wrong.

“It’s something that I’m not exhibiting…or at least I wasn’t.” He paused. “I’m not really sure that I need you any longer.”